


The Shadow Proves The Sunlight

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eloping, F/M, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Sex, Incest, Period-Typical Underage, Politics, Prophetic Visions, Sansa Targaryen, Scheming, Sibling Love, jon Baratheon - Freeform, mention of Tywin's penchant for killing children, of the Targaryen typical variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Targaryen!Sansa/Baratheon!Jon- Forbidden love</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lovers

It made for strange family dynamics when a father wanted his children to marry each other, and his children wanted anything but.

Father had always been distant, lost in his prophecies and dreams, preferring the company of his dusty old scrolls to the company of his children. Sansa (Visenya formally, but she had never been fond of the name) and her siblings had known for most of their lives that Father thought Aegon to be the prince that was promised, the next incarnation of The Conqueror, Rhaenys and Sansa meant to be his sister-wives reborn. They had even been given dragon eggs as children, something that hadn’t been practiced by the Targaryens for at least a generation.

There were problems with Father’s ambitions. Sansa held no desire for Aegon, nor Aegon and Rhaenys for one another. Viserys and Daenerys certainly had no carnal feelings in common, either. All five of them had grown up in close quarters, and they knew one another’s wants and desires much more clearly than Rhaegar ever could. Viserys and Rhaenys wanted each other, they always had- Viserys had always cherished Rhaenys and Rhaenys was the only one that could calm Viserys’ bursts of temper.

Aegon’s wants had always been a bit more fickle, his fancies quick and fleeting as hot-blooded young men were wont to do. But then his heart seemed to settle on Lady Allyria Dayne, a romance born and kindled with his frequent trips to visit his mother’s kin.

The three of them circled around one another, leery of their father as one by one they came of age. As Sansa neared her fifteenth year, whispers came around court that Aegon had gotten his Dornish mistress ( _paramour_ , Aegon would have corrected with a flash of that temper that brought up comparisons to his viper uncle) with child. Rhaenys drew her aside for a walk through the gardens and in the safe company of her Dornish and Reach ladies, revealed that Aegon’s lady love carried not his bastard but his heir, for he had wed Lady Allyria not a month passed. Watching as Sansa overcame her shock, Rhaenys then asked whether her little sister would like to accompany her on a trip to visit Viserys. Sansa’s breath caught and her heart leapt, for Viserys’ seat of Summerhall was so achingly close to Storm’s End.

For if Sansa knew her siblings’ wants, they knew hers in return. There was only one man so beloved that Sansa Targaryen would defy all tradition and protocol, to move past bittersweet longing to something real and true.

Oh, what were her siblings planning?

The day Rhaenys and Sansa set out for Summerhall, a raven carried a message bearing Prince Aegon’s seal to Storm’s End, and Jon Baratheon rode out the next morning with all the fire and haste his great black stallion could muster.

+++

When they were children, Jon had spent time at court as a page. It was common knowledge that Robert Baratheon was reluctant to allow even that, especially considering he sent Jon to squire in the Vale instead of accepting Ser Arthur’s offer. For the few years that they were companions, Jon became one of her favorite playmates, always more willing to play her knight than Aegon. When they played monster-and-maidens, Jon was always gentle with her when he caught her. He slipped lemon cakes her way whenever they were served, the soft smile that always accompanied his offers causing her heart to flutter.

When they were eleven, Jon was her first kiss, a chaste, sweet thing shared between them on the eve of Jon’s leaving. It would be the last time she saw him for another four years.

She next saw him again during the celebration for her father’s fortieth nameday. He had grown tall and strong, impossibly handsome in a black doublet slashed with cloth-of-gold, the rich dark color rendering his eyes the beautiful, dangerous gray of a storm-cloud. As they danced, those stormy eyes never left hers, and Sansa felt something profound move and shift inside her. From that moment on, she knew she would never be able to go through with her father’s plans.

+++

Jon gently tossed her back against the bed (belonging to guest chambers at Summerhall) and pounced down after her. Sansa laughed as they landed, the sound joyous to his ears. He grinned down at her and wrapped his arms around her, pecking his lips playfully as they fell into one another. Sansa responded by burying his fingers through his hair, angling his mouth down to hers.

Jon groaned into his kiss, shifting until their bodies pressed close, Sansa’s legs locking around his hips. She slid her hands beneath his tunic, urging him to lift up as together, they pulled the garment over his head. He fell back over her, kissing her once more with a throaty sound of satisfaction as Sansa began to explore his bared torso. She ran her fingers over the planes and angles of his body, delighting in warm, smooth skin over sleek muscles.

Their kisses slowed, their caresses gentled, and when they drew apart with baited breath, Jon sighed contently and nuzzled against his cheek. “Could this truly be real? I feel as if I should still be dreaming in my own bed. Are you truly here with me?”

Sansa kissed him softly, placing her hand over his and entwining their fingers. “If you are dreaming, Jon, we are dreaming together. I might dare to believe this to be real and true, but if it is not, then stay with me, husband.”

“I’ll stay with you, wife, and we’ll keep dreaming together.”

She took his hand, guiding it beneath the hem of her shift. The coupling that followed was a clumsy, graceless thing, but it was sweet nonetheless. They lay wrapped in one another’s arms in the trembling aftermath, shy but contented smiles on their faces as their foreheads touched and they regarded one another silently.

“Do you suppose this makes us like Durran and Elenei?” she asked softly.

Jon hummed thoughtfully, tucking a few stray curls behind her ear, stroking his fingers down her cheek. “I don’t think our fathers’ fury can quite match that of the gods.”

“We can only hope.”


	2. The Players

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The older Targaryen siblings work to protect their own happiness and that of their little sisters.

They had tried when they were young to adhere to their father’s desires. Fourteen and thirteen, they sat cross-legged and facing one another in a hidden corner of the Water Gardens, privacy and freedom only truly found on these rare visits to their mother’s kin. With the awkwardness that came with the lack of both experience and desire, they leant in and pressed their lips together. They felt nothing in response, just skin against skin. Rhaenys’ nose crinkled with disgust when Aegon breathed out, giving off the smell of the durian paste he was so inexplicably fond of, and she unceremoniously shoved him away.

They could have attributed the lack of spark to their youth, but later that same holiday, Rhaenys received her first kiss from Cletus Yronwood (a sweet, chaste contact that sent shivers down her spine even with its simplicity), and their Uncle Oberyn decided to celebrate his nephew’s nameday with Aegon’s first trip to a brothel.

They try again, just before they are expected to begin the long journey back to King’s Landing (not home, never home, not the way Dorne and Dragonstone feel). They go further than a simple kiss this time, tentatively touching and exploring, Aegon puts his newfound knowledge into practice, careful and gentle with her as his hands slid beneath her silks and ghosted over her skin.

Rhaenys winced as Aegon’s tongue traced along the seam of her lips, and she let them part, allowing him to deepen the kiss. It was wet, and warm, and she mulled over the strange sensation of the sword callouses on his fingers brushing against her skin. Her brother gently cupped her hips, tugging her closer until they were pressed against one another, chest to chest and hip to hip.

Rhaenys’ heart dropped and she pulled back enough for their lips to disconnect, their eyes opening to meet in a shared look of bleak resignation. Hip to hip…there was nothing to feel pressed between them, just the soft swell of his unaffected sex. Aegon was as unmoved by their affections as she was.

“Egg, this isn’t working,” she whispered shakily, feeling the beginning prick of tears.

Aegon breathed out harshly with a curt nod. He cupped the back of her neck, tipping his forehead against hers. “We’ll figure it out, Rhae. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Egg.”

+++

She was curled up on the bed, arms wrapped tightly around herself with her cheeks glistening with previously shed tears. Rhaenys didn’t hesitate, crossing the room with purposeful strides and sitting gently on the bed to envelop her distraught sister in her arms. Sansa tensed at first, but relaxed when she caught a glimpse of raven hair, recognized the scent of citrus and spice.

“Rhae, it hurts,” she whimpered softly, more tears falling from her eyes as she pleadingly curled closer to her sister. Rhaenys shifted to rest her head in her lap, stroking her mess of auburn curls.

“I know, sweetling, I know.” With Lady Lysa occupied with little Rhaemon, their youngest brother, as per usual, it fell to Rhaenys to comfort her sweet little sister in the aftermath of Jon Baratheon’s departure from King’s Landing. She leaned down to brush her hips against Sansa’s forehead and held her all the tighter, all the closer.

It was a duty she would gladly accept.

+++

The clash and clatter of glass and clayware echoed through the room, but Rhaenys was determinedly unflinching as she stared impassively at the perpetrator. Viserys stood beside the table he had upended, chest heaving and fists clenching and unclenching fitfully. He brushed his long hair back from his face, still so unfairly handsome even with the immaturity she had just witnessed, still evident in the flush to his cheeks and the angry glint in his eyes.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” she stated baldly, her tone blunt and caustic. “Am I supposed to be swept up in the passion of your display and forget that it serves us no purpose? “

Viserys scowled and opened his mouth to reply, but Rhaenys held up a hand to silence him. “Continue this, Viserys, and I will walk out that door.” The implication that she would never return, _to him_ , hung in the air between them.

Viserys was arrogant, vain, and possessed an ugly temper that flared most often when he didn’t get his way. But despite his faults, he wasn’t a cruel man, and Rhaenys knew he would never intentionally do anything to hurt her. Still, if continued down this path of conceit where self-involved wrath was his response, Rhaenys might one day find her heart a casualty of his warpath. She refused to commit herself if she couldn’t trust him to change. _Please, Vis_ , _give me a sign. I love you, you know I do._

His body relaxed and seemed to go slack as he let go of his anger, his face blanketed with contrite defeat as he tentatively stepped closer to take her hands. “Of course. I’m sorry, sweetling. I just…”

“I know,” she replied with a sad smile, entwining their fingers. After nearly a decade of fostering and squiring in Oldtown, Viserys had been returned home with a new knighthood courtesy of Baelor Brightsmile and his first order of business had been to ask Rhaegar for her hand. Her father had denied him, of course, despite her betrothal to Aegon being far from formalized, and the denial had sent Viserys into his tantrum.

Viserys sighed softly, raising their joined hands to press a kiss to her fingers. Now, he just appeared tired rather than wroth, resigned.

“Aegon made me a promise once, that we would figure this out.”

Viserys smiled wryly, little humor to be found in the expression. “Did you believe him?”

“Not much more than I do now.”

+++

The lovers lay together, naked as the day they were born and panting for breath. His hand found her hip and they both turned on their sides, Aegon spooning her from behind. Allyria smiled as she felt strong arms wrap around her, the warm muscle of his bare chest pressing up against her back. She breathed in the scent of him, the musky, masculine spice brushing against her nose as he sleepily nuzzled her neck.

She lay there for a while, focused on the soft reverberation of his heartbeat against her back, the sounds of his breathing along with the rise and fall of his breath. When those rhythms never changed, she knew he had yet not fallen asleep, but like her, he just kept quiet and still.

He softly broke the silence between them.  “What is it that weighs so heavy on your mind?”

She could not help but smile slightly, despite the presence of said worry. He knew her well, her princely lover. “There’s something I have to tell you, my love.”

He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “You can tell me anything. I hope you know that.”

“Of course, but…”

He drew back from her, cupping her chin to turn her face toward him. Concern filled his eyes, and trepidation filled hers. “Allyria, what’s wrong?”

She hesitantly bit her lip, deciding with a soft sigh. “I’m with child, Aegon.”

+++

Aegon’s brow was furrowed with heavy thought as he studied the enormous Painted Table. Rhaenys approached him carefully to where he had ensconced himself, upon the raised seat representing Dragonstone. She set four iron figures down on the table before them: a wolf, a trout, a stag, and a falcon.

“They’re closing ranks, strengthening their alliance,” she started without preamble. “Serena Stark is set to marry Ronnel Arryn any day,” she moved the wolf closer to the falcon, next doing the same with the stag. “Robert Baratheon makes no secret of his desire to betroth his heir to one of Lord Jon’s great-nieces. If there’s one thing Elbert Arryn managed to do well for his uncle, it was produce children. There’s at least three daughters of marrying age for Robert to choose from.”

“That happens, all four houses are tied by blood,” Aegon concluded, his contemplative expression growing closer to a scowl the longer he gazed at the map.

“The alliance is already strong enough without Baratheon and Arryn joining in blood, If we could join one of the houses to House Targaryen, the rest of them follow. Especially if there’s an heir quickly.”

That drew Aegon’s eyes away from the table. “Who do you suggest? Or are you offering yourself as the sacrificial lamb?”

“If I must.” As much as she longed for Viserys, she wouldn’t hesitate to make the sacrifice if it was necessary to protect their family. “But I’m not the one who first came to mind. You know how she feels about Jon Baratheon. And how he feels about her.”

“I know,” he admitted softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Is it mad for me to be reluctant not because I don’t trust they could be happy, but because I wish we could continue to shelter her?”

“No, it makes you mortal. And an older brother.”

He huffed with amusement, reaching up to gently tug her down to him. Rhaenys rolled her eyes, but relented considering he was occupying the only seat in the room and perched herself on his knee. She rested her head against his shoulder, idly toying with the dragon brooch pinned to his doublet.

“The Lannisters aren’t a threat. Grandfather saw to that.” Aerys II’s greatest act of humiliation toward his Warden of the West had been his order for Tywin’s golden twins to be married- to one another. Lord Tywin had refused, of course, but Aerys had him imprisoned to prevent his interference. The twins were wedded, bedded, and had produced a golden-haired heir by the time Rhaegar released their father, after the Mad King’s death.

In his outrage, Tywin tried to have their marriage annulled, but his children refused. A few months later, the boy (Jason? Jaremy? Joffrey?- Rhaenys couldn’t remember) died in the cradle, and rumors of Tywin’s involvement followed the Lord Paramount for the next (and last) year of his life, until he suffered a fatal fall. Jaime and Cersei became Lord and Lady Lannister, gossip claiming they were completely and utterly absorbed in one another to the point of obsession, leaving their uncle in charge of administrating the Westerlands and shipping their brother off to the Citadel so there would be no distractions from one another. No matter what the truth, the Westerlands and House Lannister were quiet and content.

“But Mace Tyrell has always been ambitious. He’s wanted to see you married off to Margaery since we were children.”

Aegon hummed affirmatively. “He’ll have to be content with what we can grant him. I’d have to be an utter fool to let any highborn child of mine be born a bastard. I’d rather the name Blackfyre only be spoken by maesters as they conspire over their dusty old tomes.” His expression grew contemplative. “Perhaps a Lord Paramount? Edmure Tully is unmarried. Or a prince in his own right…has Uncle arranged a betrothal for Quentyn yet?”

“Not that I know of. But Lord Tyrell is loyal, we have time to explore our options.” She sighed softly, and Aegon tilted his head toward her, his lips upturned into a small smile. “Thank you, Rhae.”

“For what, Egg?”

“I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“If I can help it, you won’t ever have to find out.” Her face grew solemn. “But you know Father would never let any of this happen.”

Aegon pressed his lips to her forehead and stayed silent. Rhaenys wondered which one of them he was protecting by not speaking, but followed his example and didn’t dare to ask.

+++

Aegon had once heard an interesting saying during his studies that he never thought would be one he could apply to his father. "Still waters run deep," Maester Hendry had said, words that surely applied to his distant, detached father, whose rage was now something to behold.

He never second-guessed that decision he had made in Dorne all those months ago, he and Allyria dressing quickly in the pre-dawn hours and presenting themselves to the septon before anyone could interfere. And he certainly didn’t regret aiding his sisters in securing their own safety and happiness. His unapologetic defiance only seemed to spark Rhaegar’s wroth all the more.

Even more unnerving than his father’s anger, however, was the steely calm that followed. “You are blood of the dragon,” the king stated firmly, decisively, “The Prince that was promised. Binding you to your Rhaenys and Visenya is necessary for what is to come, and I will not let your petty games interfere with that. You will set this girl aside, you will retrieve your sisters, and you will return here to wed them both before the moon changes. Or so help me, Aegon, you will regret every move you make in defiance of me.”

“And if I don’t?”

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed, but that eerie calm remained. “Then I will do whatever’s necessary to make you see reason.”

Aegon thought then of Tywin Lannister, of the twins and their dead son, of the child growing beneath the heart of the woman he loved with everything he was, and he suddenly felt cold. Still, he kept his expression impassive, as he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room.

+++

Aegon’s defiance didn’t wane, and he didn’t return within that moon, or the next, or the next after it. Soon, Rhaegar found himself at a six-month standoff with his children, the three of them and their respective spouses shut away on Dragonstone, refusing his summons to return to court.

That night, Rhaegar Targaryen wrote up a declaration that soldiers would be sent to bring his children back to the capitol, by force if necessary, with authorization to siege the castle of Dragonstone. After, he climbed the long, winding stairs leading to the oldest parts of the royal library, determined to read back over the prophecy that so consumed his life.

So often he had been warned about the instability of old, crumbling stone, but Rhaegar had always waved away the concerns. Taking time to repair the tower steps would mean time away from his prophecy, something the Silver Dragon would not condone.

This night, that stubbornness proved fatal. The old stone gave way beneath his feet, and the King fell.

(Long Live the King.)

+++

Rhaenys smiled fondly as she watched Jon fuss over her sister, her goodbrother hovering and fidgety as Sansa waved him away and slowly but steadily settled herself onto the couch. Sansa shared an amused look with Rhaenys as Jon tucked pillows behind her back and head, resting a hand against her distended belly. Six months gone with child, her sister was beautiful in pregnancy, and if Jon Baratheon hadn’t already been her  besotted devotee, carrying his child surely would have made it so.

Rhaenys glanced down at the child nestled in her arms, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his head of pale blond hair, courtesy of his Dayne heritage. As devoted as Allyria was to her little son, it hadn’t taken much to convince her to leave Valarr in Rhaenys’ care to get some rest. The new mother most definitely deserved it.

“Jon, could I ask you something?”

Jon looked over at her, puzzled but cordial. “Of course, Prin-Sister.” Months after she insisted he consider them family, and he still stumbled over the address. It was rather adorable.

She watched as he delicately sat down beside Sansa, and immediately offered her  refreshments from the nearby tray. Sansa gave him a warm smile, nibbling on the proffered lemon cake and sipping her tea.

Rhaenys herself reached over to snag a wedge of cheese, the flavor rich and sharp on her tongue as she bit into it. “Your cousin Robb. What can you tell me of his character?”

Jon blinked with surprise, but he answered immediately. “He’s honorable, and honest.” A small nostalgic smile played at his lips. “I’ve always known him to be kind. And brave. He’s a good man, Rhaenys. Why do you ask?”

“Now that you and Sansa are married, we’re all family: Baratheons, Starks, and Targaryens. House Arryn as well, now that Lady Serena and Lord Ronnel have wed. Egg and I were discussing strengthening those ties, perhaps bringing up your cousin to Dany as a potential suitor.” _The Pact of Ice and Fire_ , Egg had said, cementing an alliance Aegon felt should have  “There’s also a possibility of considering the Vale for Rhaemon’s fostering. The Eyrie itself or mayhaps Runestone.”

Rhaenys held Sansa’s eyes, waiting for a sign of approval, especially concerning Sansa’s beloved little brother. Sansa smiled warmly with a nod of approval. “I think all of that sounds lovely.”

Encouraged, Rhaenys leaned forward, reaching for another piece of cheese. “We both thought that once the babe is old enough to travel, you two might like to visit the North in the Crown’s name, play chaperone to Dany if she’s agreeable to a courtship.” And broach the possibility of a match between the heir of Highgarden and one of Lord Manderly’s granddaughters. Part of Aegon’s grand plans, encouraging further trade out of the North and setting the foundation of eventually establishing a second harbor city on the western coast to serve as a northern buffer against the Iron Islands. She decided not to reveal any of this just yet, however. She would leave that to the grand planner himself.

“That would be wonderful,” Sansa replied with a light furrow between her brows as she studied her sister closely. “But how do you to plan to get any of that passed Father?”

The cheese dropped from Rhaenys’ hand, and her face paled until she looked absolutely stricken. It was only concern (and slight encumbrance from) the child inside her that kept Sansa from rushing over to her. “Rhaenys, what is it?”

Rhaenys was saved from answering when Aegon came stomping into the room, a raven’s message clutched tightly in his hand. “Sansa, Rhae. Sweetlings, there’s something I have to tell you.”

A short time later, after Jon had gently guided a devastated Sansa to go lay down, Aegon plopped down beside her. Their eyes met, the weight of a heavy, guilty secret filling the space between them. “We knew,” she whispered, so softly his ears had to strain to listen. “We knew, and we did nothing.”

“We didn’t know for sure,” Aegon countered, reaching over to take her hand. “And we certaintly didn’t know when. Your dream wasn’t clear enough for that, Rhae.”

Rhaenys scoffed, running an agitated hand through her hair. “My one unclear vision just happens to be our father’s death? Maybe some part of me wanted it to be unclear. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t see enough to warn him.”

“Maybe,” Aegon replied softly. “But I wouldn’t ever blame if that was the case. I wouldn’t love you any less.”

Rhaenys sighed, letting her head fall to his shoulder. She’d had enough of haunting, portent visions haunting her sleep, greeting her mornings in tears and screams. No wonder she and Viserys made such a good match, he with his black moods and she waking up screaming in her sleep. “Tell me I can let this go, Egg. Tell me you have enough to forge this future you’re planning, that you and I no longer have to conspire and Allyria can take her proper place as your queen.”

Aegon gazed at her with a bemused, tired sort of gratitude. “You can let it go, Rhae. I can’t ever thank you completely for everything you’ve done, but it’s over, Rhaenys. Make yourself happy.”

“Happy as I can, Your Grace.”

Weeks later, as Viserys crawled into bed beside her and the bitter edge of their mourning had begun to soften, Rhaenys rolled over to kiss him, deep and intense in a way the couple hadn’t truly dared very often. Viserys returned her affections eagerly, holding her close that brought a smile constantly threatening to break their kiss.

“Please don’t misunderstand this as a complaint,” Viserys said breathlessly, “But what’s the meaning of this?”

She touched her fingers to his cheek. “The dreams can be over now, Vis. We can…” she trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks. Their ancestor Daenys the Dreamer had reportedly lost her abilities after

her marriage to her brother, Gaemon, and Rhaenys had made the connection between the visions and maidenhood. As long as Aegon had needed her sight, she and Viserys hadn’t ever fully been together as man and wife. But now, Aegon had the throne, Sansa was happy and safe, and she and Vis could retire quietly to Summerhall without protest.

“We’re free, Vis. We’re finally free.”

Viserys pulled her close and cut off her further explanations with his lips. Rhaenys melted against him, letting the garbled explanations and confessions fade away, reveling in the freedom she’d never quite felt before.


End file.
